


Merlin Was Fine

by AlseinWonderland



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt, Hurt Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlseinWonderland/pseuds/AlseinWonderland
Summary: Merlin is missing after Morgana attacks the citadel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 63





	Merlin Was Fine

**Author's Note:**

> a very rough draft of a wip that has been gathering dust on my computer for ages. All mistakes, grammar or otherwise, are my own.

Arthur did not rest when the battle had finished, despite ordering many of his men to do just that. He was the king and he a city to rebuild. He had to take stock of the damages both bodily and structural. The sorcerers that had flanked his sister were not very accurate in their strikes, taking down just as many walls as they did people. He also had to begin accounting for those who had died during the initial siege and resulting battle. He stalked through the halls, eyes roving the faces of those at his feet. The castle was clogged with bodies, they piled up at the stairwells and lined the corridors. Arthur thankfully noted that most of them wore the rough leather and light chainmail of the mercenaries that Morgana had acquired. 

He had kept one eye on his sister throughout the entirety of the battle. Thus, he had been able to tell when her energy had started to wane. She was incredibly powerful, he knew that, but even she had tired. Her spells became less potent and her aim less precise. Arthur’s men were also better trained than hers. Their loyalty had been earned not bought which made them more focused and more deadly. She had evidently realized all of this as the winds had begun to pick up and swirl around her before spiriting her far away from the carnage she had wrought. 

Gwen and Gaius were the first of his loved ones that he found. Safe and hale, caring for the steady stream of patients flooding into the great hall. He had breathed an embarrassingly audible sigh of relief when Gwen’s dark curls and Gaius’s aged hair had come into view. He craned his neck over and around the swarm of people, hoping to catch sight of an even more familiar black mop bustling through the crowds. He sagged slightly when Gaius noticed his searching stare and shook his head. Arthur wasn’t worried, not truly at least. Knowing Merlin, he was probably off treating people who hadn’t been able to make it here on their own. Merlin was fine, he was always fine. 

He ran into each of his knights one by one as he maneuvered through the bloodstained halls, except for Elyan and Percival who he found attempting to lift a door off a dead knight. Arthur still had yet to lay eyes on his servant, but he wasn’t worried. He was most likely avoiding Arthur, knowing that he would order the man to do something he did not deem productive, like rest. 

He only began to worry when the first streaks of light were making their way across the sky. Merlin had not checked in with him, he had not been to the makeshift infirmary and none of his knights had seen the man either. His worry was still mild because Merlin had probably fallen asleep in some corner and was happily snoring while the rest of the castle toiled. His worry was mild because Merlin was ok, he was always ok. 

When night had fallen once again and all those of Camelotian blood had been accounted for, then, and only then, did Arthur allow his worry to truly grow. It unfurled within him, squeezing his chest and rolling his stomach. Merlin had not been seen by anyone the king had talked to. Not since the heat of the battle when one servant had reported seeing his gangly form dashing across the courtyard, sword in hand. 

A day passed, then two, followed by a third, all without any word on the whereabouts of his servant. On the fourth day a rider appeared at the gate. He seemed out of it, like he wasn’t fully present. Magic, Arthur realized. He said nothing as he passed off his parcel, falling limply to the ground after uttering those horrifying words, “This is your fault, you should keep better track of your belongings”. Arthur’s gut told him what he would find in the box, but his brain and his heart told him differently. Merlin was alright, because he was always alright. 

Inside the box, laid carefully on a painfully familiar scrap of fabric, was a long finger. The pendragon crest shone cruelly where it sat just below the second knuckle. The king gagged. It was undoubtedly Merlin’s finger. Arthur had placed that very ring on it not three weeks prior. The fabric that cradled the digit was his neckerchief. The purple one that Arthur adored, now stained. No, drenched, in what was almost certainly the boy’s blood. Now, staring at the offending objects his brain and his heart acquiesced. Admitting defeat, they joined with his gut and danced in his grief. They danced, a slow somber thing because Merlin was not fine and because Arthur was an idiot.


End file.
